Tuesday, May 8, 2012

'Til death do us part

Sometimes it's the little things.

Mother Magoo and I were bringing Baby Flails-a-lot in when we noticed the hipster neighbors were getting rid of two mod outdoor rocking chairs. Both looked beat down from their life in the wild but they were brimming with potential. The metal one I was going to buy fabric for and refit, the wood one Mother Magoo was going to fix up. Piled into the yard next to the outdoor set we actually use they were a sad sack of sorry but, like I said, brimming.

Husband-cat came onto the porch, looked at us, looked at the chairs and a giant thought bubble appeared over his head which read:
It was one of those moments where I knew we had been together for too long. See Mother Magoo and I used to be an unbeatable team in the talking-people-into-things business. When we all lived together in Buffalo, Husband-cat had a crash course in one particular area where we love exert this enrolling talent: furniture. We feel the need to buy/window shop/discuss/endlessly rearrange/obsess over furniture.

Some of it is superficially normal. I love mid-century furniture and will look at interior design porn at least once a day. Other times, not so much. Husband-cat once estimated that Mother Magoo had dragged home a total of five couches during the three years we lived in Buffalo. Both of us love to get shit to fix up that we never actually get around to fixing.

Husband-cat has heard it all. Over the three years we all lived in the same house in Buffalo he saw these sorry projects come and go like the tide, frequently after he had done all the heavy lifting because Mother Magoo has bum knees and I have crap wrists. It took those three years to grind down his innate Midwestern unwillingness to be confrontational. Because be clear, it is a sickness with us and we will not be stopped with regular weaponry.

However, one look at his face where he stood looking down at us from the porch and I knew our magic was gone like it had never been. He didn't verbalize the thought bubble, he just said very clearly and distinctly, "No." We paused, eyeing him, some words were issued on our part. He looked at us steadily. He repeated himself. We considered rejoining battle, looked at each other and shrugged. It was over. We knew it. There was a look in his eye. It didn’t matter what we thought, the matter was settled. If we didn't agree he might not let us into the house ever again. We gracefully subsisted. Once someone is immune to your power, best to be a classy about it, after all.

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